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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095571">On Itsukushima Island</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaraven/pseuds/justaraven'>justaraven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Inspired by Stick With You by lettersinpetals, M/M, Miya Atsumu is Bad at Feelings, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Multi, My own take on a similar situation I guess?, Sakusa Kiyoomi has Contamination OCD, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Sakusa has OCD, quarantine fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,366</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaraven/pseuds/justaraven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Atsumu accidentally orders his return flight ticket for a day late, he figures it won’t matter. It wouldn’t have, except that happened to be the day the world shut down. Now, he’s stuck in a hotel with Sakusa Kiyoomi two doors down. </p>
<p>Contamination OCD is a common OCD subtype in which a person obsesses over contracting an illness or spreading germs. Kiyoomi has already been stressing with a new virus spreading, but will he be able to handle it when the threat seems to loom in front of him? Not to mention that his only company is his asshole of a teammate with laughable hygiene.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">“Panic on the brain, world has gone insane,</span>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">Things are starting to get heavy.”</span>
    </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>The MSBY Black Jackals were supposed to have the month of March off, maintaining individual training schedules, of course. Then Hinata, ray of sunshine that he is, decided that the best way to diffuse the tension on the team (a kind way of saying he wanted Atsumu and Sakusa to get along) would be a trip the second week of break. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Coach Foster fully supported the idea, making it mandatory. Atsumu would have gone even if it wasn’t. Itsukushima was a cool place, and being there with Shouyou and Bokuto would be fun. Meian bought them their tickets there, but they were responsible for their tickets home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was where the plan went wrong. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Honestly, who thought that putting a bunch of idiotic volleyball players in charge of their own plane tickets was a good idea?!</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, Meian, apparently. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu had assumed that “second week” meant that they would be leaving Saturday, so he bought his ticket for that afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He discovered Thursday night, drinking at a bar with the team, that their tickets were ordered for early Friday morning. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I gotta spend two days here all by myself?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s alright, TsumTsum!” Bokuto assured him with a firm pat on his back. “I think Sakkun is staying longer, too!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi-san hasn’t left his room in days, though!” Hinata added. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So I will be all by myself!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No worries! We didn’t get to do everything around here this week, so you can just find something fun to do tomorrow!” Bokuto assured him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah. I’ll google it t’morrow. Let’s talk ‘bout somethin’ else.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooh! Keiji was hired at Shonen Jump!” Atsumu ordered another drink to make it through Bokuto’s ramblings about his boyfriend, and soon the clock had reached one and Meian was shooing everyone back to the hotel. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you oversleep, you’ll miss the flight!” he told them, though that didn’t include Atsumu. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stumbled to his room, next to Hinata’s, and fell face-down into his bed, resolving to google more activities on the island in the morning. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t wake up in the morning, though. His clock read 13:48 when he checked, groggily sitting up and grabbing his phone. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The hell?” he muttered as he combed through what seemed like endless notifications. He had missed calls from what seemed like every member of the team, sans Sakusa, along with Osamu, Rin, and his parents. He swiped right on the top one, Meian, calling him back. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Atsumu!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?” he asked, voice still scratchy from sleep. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just got a late start today, ‘m fine. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t know?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Know what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The quarantine, Atsumu. COVID. You don’t know about any of that?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya lost me, cap’n.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Atsumu. If you are still at the hotel, you can’t leave.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whaddaya mean?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you spoken to your family? You need to let them know you’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Meian, I-“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a favor to ask of you, but do that first. Call your family, look at the news, and then call me back.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meian hung up before Atsumu could say anything else, and he was left staring at his phone screen in disbelief. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quarantine? COVID? That China thing? He’d heard that it was spreading, but he hadn’t paid much attention to it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t call his family, settling for a couple “im alive, stuck at hotel” texts instead, before reading the news to see that he was, indeed, stuck at the hotel.Itsukushima was completely shut down. There were no boats, planes, or anything of the sort arriving or leaving the island, and anyone currently there was asked to stay home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’d love to stay home, Atsumu thought bitterly, but you won’t let me leave to get there! </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, he called Meian again, as had been requested of him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s this favor ya need me for?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sakusa.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about ‘im?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I need you to check on him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?! Why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Calm down. He hasn’t answered anyone’s calls or messages. I just need you to go to his room and see if he’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu took a deep breath. He and Sakusa were not friends, or even friendly. Their personalities just tended to clash. He was probably the worst person to send to check on the guy, but he was also the only person who could. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine. I’ll text ya whether he’s alive or dead.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Atsumu.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem. Bye, cap’n.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He got a text seconds later with a room number (323, two doors down from his, 319) and finally crawled out of bed. He was in a T-shirt and boxers, so he pulled on some sweatpants and stumbled into the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He checked more of his messages while he knocked on Sakusa’s door, coming to the conclusion that he needed to call Hinata at some point that day, given half of his notifications were from him, typo-filled in their caps-locked panic. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knocked again, harder. “Omi-kun?” When he still didn’t get a response, he decided that the best course of action would be to keep knocking until Sakusa made him stop. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“GOD Miya, what the hell do you want?!” Sakusa’s irritated voice came from behind the door, which remained closed. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Meian told me ta check on ya. Ya haven’t answered anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t been online.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do ya know what’s goin’ on?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa’s sigh was loud enough that Atsumu heard it clearly through the wood between them. “Of course I do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So ya goofed up your ticket out, too?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Miya, because I’m not a complete idiot.” Atsumu scoffed. “My family was already planning a trip here. I was going to stay today by myself and meet them in the morning. Now, of course, they’re stuck at home. So I’m here for two weeks, alone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two weeks?! That was the rest of their month off!</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yer not alone, Omi-kun!” he said, even though he’d been complaining about being alone himself. “Ya got me!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Joy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Y’know, Omi-kun, it’s pretty rude to let your team and family worry ‘bout ya.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I can’t get on my phone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s...don’t worry about it. Just tell Meian I’m fine. If you can handle such a task.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Asshole. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yer weird, Omi-kun. How are ya gonna let yer family know yer okay?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Maybe Meian will tell them.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then, Atsumu was struck with an idea. “Isn’t Sunarin on a team with yer cousin?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Motoya knows a Suna on the Raijins, if that’s who you’re talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Kay, well, Rin’s prob’ly quarantined with ‘Samu, and I’ve gotta call him anyways, so I’ll tell ‘im that yer okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Thank you, Miya.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Course, Omi-Omi! Anything for you~” The sigh he got in response was worth the extra task of his call. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He called Hinata first. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shou-kun!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Atsumu-kun! Are you okay? Meian-san said you were, but you still hadn’t answered many people, and I was worried!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m alright! ‘m sure I’ll be bored, but I’m okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay! I was planning on going to see my family, but since I can’t, Bokuto-senpai offered to let me stay with him and Akaashi-san! Isn’t that nice?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">More like insane, Atsumu thought, of Akaashi to agree to live with Hinata and Bokuto for two weeks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, they’re real nice like that. Have fun there, Shou-kun.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Atsumu-kun! Have fun with Omi-san!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah, right, he wanted to say. Fun, with Sakusa? Honestly, the word didn’t even belong in a sentence with the guy’s name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is Sunarin with ya?” he asks as soon as his twin picks up. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. No response all day and when ya finally answer it’s not even me ya want?! Yer a damn moron.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. So I’m alive. Stuck at the hotel for a couple weeks is all. I need ta talk ta Rin.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great. Ma was worried, by the way. Not me.” After that, Atsumu could hear his brother calling for his fiancé. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Atsumu? What did you need?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya know Komori on your team?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously, his cousin’s on yours.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, about that. I need ya ta tell him his cousin’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay? Why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s stuck here with me. Said he can’t use his phone for some reason.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh. Weird. Will do. Bye.” Atsumu heard Osamu yelling “WAIT DONT HANG UP YET” followed by the dial tone. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sat on his bed for about an hour, waiting for the reality of the situation to sink in (it never did) before realizing how hungry he was, so he called for room service. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, sir. We’ve sent the majority of our staff home so that they can be quarantined with their families. Guests will have to come downstairs to eat. Your room does have a mini refrigerator and a microwave, if you’d like to buy things to use there. There’s a convenience store just down the road that will be remaining open. Also, your room will remain available for the next two weeks while you’re quarantined.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That made the reality of his situation sink in a bit more, and suddenly he wasn’t hungry. Instead, he settled for watching Netflix on his iPad until he felt like he could fall asleep. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Saturday morning, he found his spirits hadn’t risen. He went downstairs for breakfast, finding he could eat, then went to the convenience store mentioned to buy protein bars, chips, and microwaveable ramen, along with some face masks and disinfectant wipes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, he spent the rest of the day stuck back in his room, unable to think of another excuse to leave. He settled for standing out on the tiny balcony his room afforded him, looking out at the ocean and giving a silent thanks that his room was on this side of the hotel. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu was not the kind of person who could handle being cooped up in his room very long. He liked the outdoors, and he preferred being around people. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a sigh, he returned to his room, grabbing his volleyball from his suitcase and laying on his bed, tossing it in the air. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His thoughts wandered, which just brought his spirits down further. Osamu was quarantined with Suna. Hinata was staying with Bokuto and Akaashi. But Atsumu was alone. He recalled his words to Sakusa the day before, “Yer not alone, Omi-kun! Ya got me!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How foolish he’d been. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to suddenly get along with Sakusa, who probably didn’t mind being alone. Most likely preferred it, actually. But still. Not even a text? No acknowledgement that they were in this together?</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa had claimed he couldn’t use his phone yesterday. What was up with that? He also hadn’t even opened the door when Atsumu had spoken to him, electing to hold the conversation through it. He probably hasn’t even worked up the guts to leave his room, Atsumu scoffed to himself, before he remembered that room service was no longer offered. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It had been almost twenty-four hours since his call with the employee, meaning that if Sakusa hadn’t left his room, he hadn’t eaten in over a day. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Should Atsumu check on him? They weren’t friends, but it was more of a teammate thing than a friend thing. What would he do if his wing spiker died of starvation? It would be irresponsible of him as the starting setter to let that happen. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabbed a face mask out of his convenience store package of disposables, pocketed two protein bars, and left his room, passing one door on the way to Sakusa’s </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knocked about eight times before Sakusa started yelling at him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“FUCKING HELL, MIYA!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There ya are, Omi-Omi!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t call me that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, so, Omi-kun, have ya eaten?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since when?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let me rephrase. When’s the last time ya ate somethin’?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had room service deliver dinner Thursday night.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thursday night. It was Saturday night. Two days?! </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The hell, Omi?!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m bringin’ ya food. I got protein bars earlier. You can even wipe down the packagin’ if ya need.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...no thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is yer door unlocked?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know, Miya, but you’re not-“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He interrupted Sakusa’s statement by opening the door, then almost immediately closed it when he was struck by the strong scent of disinfectant. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Geez, Omi, didja spray yer whole room down?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he didn’t get a response, he looked around the room, which he now noticed still had the lights off, and finally found Sakusa in the corner near the door, curled in on himself but lifting his head enough to glare daggers at Atsumu. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The hell’s goin’ on here?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just go,” Sakusa choked out, voice growing hoarse. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu flipped on the light to see him more clearly, and immediately wished he hadn’t. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked so...vulnerable. His eyes looked like they might burst with tears at any moment, despite how harshly they were boring into Atsumu. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, and his hands, shit his hands...</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi, what did ya do ta yer hands?!” They were scrubbed red, looking so raw that Atsumu was sure that any brush with a coarse material would send blood dripping onto Sakusa’s perfectly white socks. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get out, Miya!” The extra volume behind this exclamation turned his hoarse voice into a cough, and Atsumu really didn’t know how to react to the muttering of “nonononono” that was taking place in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“D’ya need water?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa ceased his muttering and looked up at Atsumu, slight surprise showing in his eyes. He nodded. Atsumu sat everything he’d brought with him on Sakusa’s table before running back to his own room, grabbing an unopened bottle of water, and returning. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he held out the bottle, Sakusa shook his head. “Can’t. It’s-“</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here,” Atsumu said, grabbing Sakusa’s package of disinfectant wipes that was sitting on his table next to Atsumu’s things. He held the package out next to the bottle. “Ya can wipe it down yerself.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa did, wincing when his hand came into contact with the wipe. Atsumu sat on the floor next to him while he drank half of the bottle. When was the last time he drank something?!</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I need-“ Sakusa started, but it seemed like he didn’t know how to phrase his request. “Can you- there’s...” He was pointing at his duffel bag, so Atsumu dragged it over. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Somethin’ in here?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another nod. “Bottle.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu felt around, planning to pull out anything that fit the description of “bottle” when his hand found a small plastic cylinder. A bottle? He pulled it out. Translucent orange and a white cap peered back at him. A medicine bottle. “This?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nod. Oh.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So maybe his germaphobe tendencies weren’t just...germaphobe tendencies. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu uncapped the bottle and held it out, watching as Sakusa tentatively took out a pill and swallowed it down with the water. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So why haven’t ya been on yer phone?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s- I can’t touch it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu saw the device sitting on the little table by the bed, so he grabbed it and returned to sitting next to Sakusa. “Need me ta wipe it down?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was joking, but when Sakusa nodded, he did exactly that. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa looked at it skeptically even after that, before taking a deep breath and opening it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, Motoya...” He tapped around on his phone for a while before looking back at Atsumu. “You can go. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Geez, Omi, I come in here and save ya, and ya don’t even wanna invite me ta stay? How rude.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good bye, Miya.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu sighed and left, leaving the protein bars on the table. Hopefully, Sakusa would come to his senses and eat something soon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was still an asshole. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This would be a long two weeks.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">“You don’t know my brain</span>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">The way you know my name. <br/></span>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">You don’t know my heart</span>
    </strong>
  </p>
  <p class="p1">
    <strong>
      <span class="s1">The way you know my face.”</span>
    </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>Atsumu had gotten into a frustrating routine. He brought Sakusa a protein bar twice a day. It wasn’t that much effort, and it was an excuse to leave his room, but Sakusa still refused to act grateful, and it had Atsumu seething. He also refused to explain what had happened, so on the third day of asking, to no avail, Atsumu called Meian. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya knew he had pills for somethin’ I’m assumin’.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, of course. That’s not your business though, Atsumu.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It is when I had ta dig them outta his bag ‘cause he was starvin’ himself in the corner of his room!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a pause long enough that Atsumu checks his phone to make sure Meian didn’t hang up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wasn’t aware he had an attack like that. I don’t know much about his condition myself, Atsumu.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Kay, well, who do I call for answers? Foster?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t call Foster. Stop prying into his personal life, and I’ll give you a little information. Keep in mind, I’m only telling you because you’re stuck there with him. He might need help from you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great. Go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sakusa has contamination OCD.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu was silent for a second, mostly out of confusion, since he’d never heard of that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought OCD was that organization thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s different kinds. I’m not exactly well educated on it myself. The kind that Sakusa has is the cause of his aversion to germs. He has medication to keep it under control, especially in cases where contracting an illness is more likely, like if he’s exposed to a lot of germs somewhere, or if, say, an outbreak of a virus turns into a global pandemic.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu felt goosebumps as he started to understand. Sakusa had a disorder that made him freak out at the possibility of getting sick. Their current situation was a nightmare for him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a nightmare for Atsumu too, though! He was growing more and more irritable the longer he was stuck in his room. If he’d been home, he would be quarantined with his brother, and while that was a recipe for disaster, it would be significantly less boring than this. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Sakusa’s...<em>thing</em> was so bad that he had to take pills to handle it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was still an asshole, though.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kiyoomi was dying. He would die alone in this stupid hotel room, he was sure of it. That stupid virus would be brought into this stupid hotel by some stupid tourist and kill Kiyoomi and that stupid setter two doors down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pills could settle the panic, but they wouldn’t quiet the thoughts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wanted to be tested. He knew it wouldn’t stop the thoughts or convince him he didn’t have it, but it would offer some comfort. But with everything he would face outside of his room, every contaminated surface he would have to come into contact with, it wasn’t worth it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least he could use his phone now. Maybe Miya was good for something other than his sets, after all. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. His serves were decent, too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, of all the people that could be here with him, it had to be the person he consistently fought with. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t his fault that Miya insisted on pushing his boundaries and teasing and taunting with every nickname and tallying of points. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It also wasn’t his fault that Miya always took his criticism so personally. Sure, he got it the worst, but no one could look at Hinata and say anything too harsh, and even Kiyoomi, with as little tact as he had, knew how to word things around Bokuto to keep him from spiraling. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He should take it as a compliment that Kiyoomi decided he could handle honest criticism. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After all, Kiyoomi definitely did not wish he was better at communicating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nope, not one bit. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was, however, thanks to him that Kiyoomi could contact his cousin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get some fresh air,” Motoya said as soon as Kiyoomi picked up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it really fresh if it’s carrying a deadly virus?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Kiyoomi</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Motoya.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go do something on your balcony. You brought a book, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, a book I finished my third day here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could watch something on Netflix?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll fall asleep. I always do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, well, you need to do something outside that room of yours. Maybe a change of scenery will help you clean your head. You can disinfect the balcony, too, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do realize that if I could seal myself inside of a hazmat suit right now, I would, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kiyoomi! Listen, just consider going out on your balcony?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” The call ended there. Kiyoomi hated phone call formalities with people he was familiar with, and Motoya was aware of that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kiyoomi was returning to wallowing in self pity when someone started pounding on his door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus Christ, Miya, you don’t have to break the door down.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya walked in, wielding a protein bar and a sealed bottle of water. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I wouldn’t wanna walk in on ya changin’ or somethin’.” That wasn’t likely, considering they both were aware that Kiyoomi hadn’t changed clothes. He’d showered, even his brain telling him that everything in the room was contaminated wouldn’t keep him from that, but someone else could have touched the clothes in his suitcase, and they could have had COVID. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yer still on the floor, Omi-Omi?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sheets might be contaminated. You never know.” Kiyoomi tried to play it off as some likely fact, even though he could recognize it would make him sound paranoid. He was used to sounding paranoid, after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. Meian told me ‘bout yer thing”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya can’t just sit here doin’ nothin’ though!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Watch me. Better yet, don’t. Leave.” Kiyoomi could feel himself losing his temper with every comment Miya made. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya haven’t changed, you’ve hardly even moved, Omi.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I showered.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Without me?” Miya fake pouted, that annoying glint in his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Deep breaths, Kiyoomi. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get out, Miya.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just sayin’, even though I’m dyin’ o’ boredom, there’s more to do around here than sittin’ there feelin’ sorry for yerself.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snapped. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Feeling sorry for myself? I can’t even look at the things I brought with me without seeing all of the germs on them. I can’t get in the bed because the sheets and pillowcases may not have been cleaned properly. I can’t leave because who knows who or what I may run into out there and where it’s been. Not to mention I can’t participate in the one activity that manages to clear my mind enough that I can think without worrying about pathogens, so forgive me if I don’t show pity for you ‘dying of boredom’ over there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kept his voice even, but there was venom laced through his words. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya was silent, for once in his life. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then, “Volleyball?” Kiyoomi nodded, while giving Miya a look that made it clear that his statement shouldn’t have required clarification. “I miss it too. I mean, even though we’re on break, I was goin’ to the gym every other day to practice serves ‘n stuff. It’s a shame, we were here with a view of the beach all weak and didn’t play beach volleyball once.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was probably as close to an apology as Miya Atsumu was capable of. Not that Kiyoomi was much better. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good bye, Miya.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. See ya, Omi-kun.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally alone in his room again, Kiyoomi looked up the number of cases on Itsukushima island. Three. It had only been two the last time he’d checked. It was spreading. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He checked Japan, too, and it was also increasing. The entire world was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t know how long he had spent looking at COVID trends when his phone died. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kiyoomi looked at the doors to the balcony, remembering what Motoya said. He donned a mask and gloves and walked over to the door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hand hovered over the handle for nearly a minute before he finally gave in and opened it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hated to admit that the fresh air did feel nice. He just had to keep his mind off of...everything. The beach was pretty from where he stood, though he had no interest in going down to it. Watching from afar was much more preferable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With gloves secured over his hands, he placed them gently on the railing as he looked out, taking deep breaths through the mask. He wished he was back in his room, where he hardly ever worried than anything was contaminated. Anything that belonged there, at least. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wished he was in a familiar place, with more familiar faces than- </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi-kun!” Damnit. “Ya left yer floor!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya Atsumu stood on his own balcony, an empty one in between them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya’s eyes lit up in the way that is only possible when someone with bad ideas comes up with one. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be right back!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No rush.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He dashed into his room and was back in seconds, volleyball in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was feelin’ so bitter ‘bout not bein’ able to actually play that I forgot I packed this!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kiyoomi quirked a curious eyebrow. Normally, he would abandon ship at the first sign of Miya’s stupidity. However, he was longing for volleyball. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya pulled out his own packet of disinfectant wipes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got the brand ya use, figured it was trustworthy,” he said as he pulled one out and wiped the ball down, along with his hands. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He threw the ball up in the air above him, then set it towards Kiyoomi. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kiyoomi received it and sent it right back to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just like practice!” Miya smiled as he looked at the ball in his hands, and for a moment Kiyoomi was surprised at the fact that Miya seemed to be showing the same emotions that he felt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just like practice,” he agreed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A little shorter this time, but I’m trying to keep updates frequent! They only have one thing they understand about each other.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sorry for the longer wait! There’s a LOT of thoughts and introspection in this one that was NOT easy to write. </p><p>Anyways. This time on Sakusa and Atsumu Being Dumb: They both think avoiding their issues works!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I fear I may be projecting onto Kiyoomi...<br/>Do any other neurodivergents find they don’t feel pain immediately, especially when distracted by an enjoyable activity?<br/>I cut my finger open with a lego and didn’t realize until I was getting ready for bed that night</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“Fool me once, fool me twice</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Are you death or paradise?</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Now you’ll never see me cry</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>There’s just no time to die.”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><br/>Atsumu was surprised Sakusa had agreed to volleyball. He was also surprised by himself conceding by wiping the ball down beforehand. Sure, it didn’t hurt to be safe, considering the circumstances, but still, he was accommodating to Sakusa’s needs. Since when did he do that? </p><p> </p><p><em>Since you saw him vulnerable</em>, a voice said. </p><p> </p><p>He ignored it.</p><p> </p><p>Still, he kept seeing Sakusa’s huddled form, terrified in the corner of his room, and his hands, god his hands! How could he do something like that?! </p><p> </p><p>Then again, he knew how important volleyball was to Sakusa. His teammates, namely Sakusa, Shouyou, and Bokkun, might have been the only ones who could understand how he felt. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu recalled several times Sakusa had berated him for drinking on a night before practice, seeing him stumble into the dorms with the smell of sake wafting off of him. </p><p> </p><p>If anyone was as concerned about remaining healthy for practice and games as Atsumu, it was Sakusa. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe the remainder of their break had rationalized it? </p><p> </p><p>He’d played volleyball with his hands injured. Atsumu realized that he hadn’t seen the condition of them during their little back-and-forth, thanks to the distance and Sakusa’s gloves. </p><p> </p><p>He’d never been this concerned about a teammate before. </p><p> </p><p><em>I’ve never had reason to be this concerned</em>, he told himself, and he repeated the sentence in his head as he pulled up Netflix. </p><p> </p><p>Whatever. He needed to keep some distance between himself and Sakusa. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi’s hands were bleeding. </p><p> </p><p>Honestly, he should have seen this coming. </p><p> </p><p>Nothing good could have come from Miya Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>Besides, he knew that he was poor at recognizing his own limits when it came to volleyball. It was, much to his chagrin, something he recognized in his setter. </p><p> </p><p>Komori would chastise him for this, no doubt.</p><p> </p><p>Did he bring a first aid kit? </p><p> </p><p>He thought for sure he had, but he couldn’t find one in his luggage. </p><p> </p><p>Heart sinking, he realized that he’d have to leave his room if he wanted to bandage his hands. </p><p> </p><p>His fingers, gloves painfully back on and already bloody, hovered over his doorknob. </p><p> </p><p>Only Atsumu had touched it in days, and he was being surprisingly careful about sanitizing his hands. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi closed his eyes, focusing on the familiar feeling of the mask on his face, and opened the door. </p><p> </p><p>Logically, he knew that there was no real difference between the air in his room and the air in the hallway, but he felt it. It hung over him like a disease-ridden fog, and he almost retreated back into his room, but there was a presence at his side. </p><p> </p><p>“Omi-Omi? Ya left yer room!”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi opened his eyes to glare at Miya. The setter’s eyes fell to his gloves. </p><p> </p><p>“Yer hands! Damn, I knew it!”</p><p> </p><p>Knew it?</p><p> </p><p>“Y’can go back to yer room, I’ll bring some bandages. But! Since I know you’ll leave now, you and I are goin’ out later!”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re goin’ ta get tested!”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Why was he doing this?</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t like Sakusa.</p><p> </p><p>He hardly tolerated him. </p><p> </p><p>So why was he going out of his way to help him?</p><p> </p><p>He’d been fighting with Sakusa for the spiker’s entire career on the Black Jackals, getting a personal win out of every irritated reaction, toeing the line of making him lose his temper, yet there he was, tenderly wrapping his bleeding hands. </p><p> </p><p>He finished one and dropped it, causing Sakusa’s fingertips to land on his knee. </p><p> </p><p>He thought Sakusa shuddered, but it was him. Sakusa just let out a short laugh. “Sensitive, Miya?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Omi, I’m bein’ nice.”</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t stop there. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu found himself wanting to comfort Kiyoomi the moment they left his room and he let out a shaky breath. He opened every door for him and kept his eyes on him as they walked, looking for any signs of panic. </p><p> </p><p>He thought he’d gotten away with it until they were waiting at the clinic. </p><p> </p><p>“Stop staring at me, Miya.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu flushed. It wasn’t like he was admiring him! He was looking out for him! Sakusa should be thanking him. </p><p> </p><p>“‘m not starin’!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa didn’t even spare him a glance before his name was called, but Atsumu noticed his shaky exhale as he rose to be tested. He bit at his nails as he waited for his own turn. </p><p> </p><p>Sakusa’s return gave him a concerning amount of relief. What, had he been worried his spiker was just going to pass out as soon as a swab was held near his face? </p><p> </p><p>Maybe a little. </p><p> </p><p>He definitely did not flinch as the swab was lifted to his own face. </p><p> </p><p>The walk back to the hotel, Atsumu felt like he was guarding Sakusa, keeping the minimal amount of people near away with his presence. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until he’d ensured Sakusa was back in his room, protein bar in hand, and Atsumu was thinking over his day, that he realized he’d touched his hands. His bare hands. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had touched Sakusa’s hands! </p><p> </p><p>Why was he so excited about that? </p><p> </p><p>He was so deep in thought over it that he didn’t notice the eyes on him as he walked into his own room to settle in for a night of distracting himself from his mind with Netflix.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi was not oblivious. Well, he was a little oblivious to feelings, particularly his own. But still. He wasn’t oblivious to actions or expressions, so he knew that Miya was acting <em> weird.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi was well aware that Miya was weird. He thought it was a good idea to bleach his hair in high school, but didn’t learn what toner was until adulthood. His little silence routine before serves was weird. His accent was weird. He was sure he had some sort of telepathy with his twin. </p><p> </p><p>His hair was still weird, with the odd little swoop it did over his forehead. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes were weird, the way he could stare right at you and not seem to see you, but his gaze could also bore into your soul with the intensity of Kiyoomi himself. </p><p> </p><p>His attitude towards volleyball was weird, the way he saw it as the be all end all of his existence, though Kiyoomi wasn’t much better in that regard. </p><p> </p><p>His personability was weird, with how he could somehow manage to befriend people like Hinata and Bokuto, who seemed much too chaotic to handle, despite their friendliness. </p><p> </p><p>His attitude towards Kiyoomi had always been weird, with his endless quips and requests for serve competitions, near unbearable antagonizing, all contrasted by the way Atsumu had acted since seeing Kiyoomi in a panic attack. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi hated being vulnerable. It was what bothered him most about his OCD. He hated the looks of sympathy Motoya used to give him every time he jerked back from hugs and handshakes. He hated the questions therapists would ask about how it was affecting making friends. He hated the sad smile his mother wore when she tried to comfort him after he first scrubbed his hands raw. </p><p> </p><p>But none of that compared to being vulnerable in front of Miya Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>He’d seen Motoya crumple in disappointment from a lost game. He’d heard his therapist’s voice crack as she postponed a session to deal with personal issues. He’d watched his mother cry into her pillow when his father left for another trip without speaking to either of them. </p><p> </p><p>He had nothing on Miya. </p><p> </p><p>Part of his admiration for Wakatoshi had come from his lack of pity. He often seemed emotionless and robotic, ways Kiyoomi had heard himself described. </p><p> </p><p>His high school crush had been based on volleyball skill, hygiene admiration, and emotional ineptness. </p><p> </p><p>Thank goodness he’d realized they were far too similar to be a couple. He and Satori complimented each other, and Kiyoomi was happy for them. </p><p> </p><p>Still, it’d taken Motoya’s meddling to even realize he’d liked Wakatoshi in that way. How would he realize if he had feelings like that again?</p><p> </p><p>Where did this train of thought start? </p><p> </p><p>Oh, right, vulnerability. Miya. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe if he poisoned him, he’d seem more vulnerable. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi ended up throwing that idea out, not because of the cruelty of poisoning a teammate, but because of the possible implications of handling poison. He really couldn’t give his brain that kind of fuel. </p><p> </p><p>His new plan consisted of avoiding Miya until he proved unavoidable, at which point he could come up with a long-term plan, hopefully one that was legal. </p><p> </p><p>Plan A was ago. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So who was watching Atsumu? Have any guesses? </p><p>Idek which one of them is dumber at this point. </p><p>Atsumu uses Netflix as a coping mechanism, raise your hand if you relate.</p><p>Tune in next time too see them find out that this isn’t going to be over in the planned two weeks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They’re both idiots, your honor.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So-<br/>As an apology for taking so long I wrote two chapters!<br/>This one and the next one will be posted within the same day!<br/>I’m not even caught up on schoolwork but oh well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“‘Cause I’ve been high and I’ve been low</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>I’ve spent a thousand nights alone, tryna hold on tight</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>And feelings come but they won’t go </strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Please won’t someone take me home before I lose my mind.”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p><br/>Plan A was failing. </p><p> </p><p>Terribly. </p><p> </p><p>Because Miya was still bringing him protein bars, his usual smirk playing on his lips, but something softer in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>It had been days since he last left his room, and he was loath to admit that Miya’s visits were keeping him alive. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi must have been getting exasperated. At least, that’s what he decides when he opens the door to Miya (yes, his mind was quiet enough for him to touch the doorknob without overthinking! A small victory but a victory nonetheless), scanned his hands for a protein bar, and, upon finding none, promptly slammed the door in his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Oomiii!” he whined. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi reopened the door. “What do you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Didja get the call?”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi vaguely remembered the phone in the room ringing earlier, but when his mind began assuring him that it was covered in pathogens and would, without doubt, lead to his demise, he had turned back to his own phone. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t answer.”</p><p> </p><p>“O’ course. Have ya watched the news?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Omi! Yer killin’ me!” Miya seemed almost frantic, definitely stressed about something. </p><p> </p><p>“Miya. Explain.”</p><p> </p><p>“The quarantine.” The word sounded odd with his accent. “It’s longer.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” For once, Kiyoomi asked a question like a question and not a demand. </p><p> </p><p>“The news guy said it’ll be another month now. All o’ April. Then, this other guy on a different channel said he thinks it’ll end up bein’ longer than that, that they’ll jus’ keep extendin’ it.”</p><p> </p><p>The last couple of words were slightly muffled as Miya lifted a hand to chew on his nails. Kiyoomi didn’t even bother to tell him how unsanitary that was, as he felt that Miya hadn’t noticed he was doing it. </p><p> </p><p>Back to what he said. The quarantine was extended? What about the V-League season? It wasn’t over yet! They were supposed to be getting back to practice any day now! </p><p> </p><p>“You said news. What was the phone call?”</p><p> </p><p>“Worse news.”</p><p> </p><p>“How could it possibly be-“</p><p> </p><p>“Ya know how the hotel was lettin’ us keep our rooms for the two weeks for free?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>Oh no. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re gonna have ta pay. Now listen, I know yer rich or whatever and yer gonna be fine-“ Miya wasn’t wrong, he’d just have to resign himself to asking his family for some assistance. After all, their V-League sponsors earned them less towards this point of the season. “-but I don’t have that luxury. I’ll be flat broke after another couple weeks here, Omi.”</p><p> </p><p>What did he want Kiyoomi to do about that?</p><p> </p><p>“So?”</p><p> </p><p>“So...I wanna share a room with ya.”</p><p> </p><p>There had to be a better way to word that. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter, though. It was a sure “no” either way. </p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p> </p><p>“Omi-kun, please? I really can’t afford it! We can just split the bill of a two-bed room!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d still be sharing a bathroom with the likes of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll clean it however ya like! Please, I don’t have another option.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, you do. Bankruptcy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Omiii! I promise, I’ll follow whatever wackass cleanin’ regimen ya want. For the whole room!”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi felt his eye twitch. </p><p> </p><p>Still, it would keep him from needing to use his parents’ money. </p><p> </p><p>“If you cross any lines, I’m out.”</p><p> </p><p>Miya’s grin spread all the way to his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank ya, Omi! I’ll go rent it fer us so ya don’t have ta leave yer room!”</p><p> </p><p>With that, he was off, his blond hair flopping on top of his head as he ran down the hallway. Kiyoomi thought that was stupid. It wasn’t as though running was necessary. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had a problem. </p><p> </p><p>Well, actually, at the moment he had several. </p><p> </p><p>First off, there was money. He’d always been poor, so he grew money conscious at a fairly young age. He knew the hotel they were staying at was expensive, but it was only supposed to be for a week! His V-League checks had managed to get him through the extra two, but sponsors weren’t paying as much during their break month, and Atsumu was about to be broke. </p><p> </p><p>Rooming with Sakusa really was a desperate decision! </p><p> </p><p>Which brought him to problem two.</p><p> </p><p>He knew he’d been acting far too concerned for Sakusa. His spiker was tough and resilient. He didn’t have to worry. </p><p> </p><p>He was worrying anyways, though, and also about himself. It wasn’t like him to show so much concern or care for someone. </p><p> </p><p>He’d been hoping to keep some semblance of distance between himself and Sakusa, but he didn’t have a choice besides rooming together. What would become of him? Didn’t Sakusa like alone time? Atsumu would get in the way of that! </p><p> </p><p>Speaking of alone, problem three. </p><p> </p><p>He felt like someone was watching him, or possibly following him. He’d been to the convenience store a few more times, since he always forgot to buy enough protein bars for himself and Sakusa, and he always heard the bell shortly after he walked in, and then never saw another face in the store. Well, besides the cashier. </p><p> </p><p>He kept feeling a presence behind him or sensing eyes on him whenever he wasn’t in his room. </p><p> </p><p>He was getting concerned enough that he was considering telling Sakusa, but he already knew his spiker would scoff and tell him to deflate his ego.</p><p> </p><p>Asshole. </p><p> </p><p>His last problem had confused him until he realized the proximity of Onigiri Miya to the MSBY dorms, and the frequency of his visits to the restaurant. </p><p> </p><p>To put it simply, Atsumu missed his brother. </p><p> </p><p>He supposed that was what happened when you grew up next to someone. He’d been heartbroken when Osamu said he was quitting volleyball, and moving away to play for the Jackals was a big change that required a months-long adjustment period of sleepovers and late-night phone calls. </p><p> </p><p>The worst part of missing your sibling is that you can’t admit it. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t like Atsumu could simply have said “hey, I miss ya” and invited him over. He had to be clever about it, hiding Osamu’s things in his new place so that he had to come pick them up, and it was late so he might as well stay the night. </p><p> </p><p>With his four problems weighing on his chest, Atsumu grumbled his way to the fourth floor, where his and Sakusa’s new room was. </p><p> </p><ol>

</ol><p> </p><p>Atsumu lugged his things to the room, trying to remember the directions the employee gave him regarding the laundry room. </p><p> </p><p>They had a laundry room on every even-numbered floor, meaning Sakusa would be able to wash his clothes. He’d changed a couple of times since Atsumu first found him, but he would definitely be anxious to get laundry done. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wandered down the hallway until he found it, one washer and one dryer in a tiny, closet-like space at the end of the hall. He was checking the cabinets above them for detergent when he felt eyes on him. </p><p> </p><p>He turned abruptly, only catching the sleeve of a dark blue or purple sweater disappearing around a corner. </p><p> </p><p>He was definitely being followed. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi was cleaning the new room. Miya had slid his keycard under the door of his old room, mentioning through it that they were both checked out of their current rooms. Kiyoomi had packed his things, leaving his cleaning supplies convenient. He didn’t have enough to feel fully comfortable, but it would do. </p><p> </p><p>He was wiping down the counter space by the microwave and mini fridge when someone began pounding on the door. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi opened his mouth as he opened the door, fully prepared to chastise Miya for disturbing him when he had his own keycard, but stopped when he saw the look on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Someone’s stalkin’ me!” he hissed. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi pulled him inside by the shoulder, looking out into the hallway. A flash of light hair disappeared around the corner. Kiyoomi closed and locked the door. </p><p> </p><p>He turned around to a startled Miya. </p><p> </p><p>“Ya believed me. Jus’ like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Were you lying?”</p><p> </p><p>“No! I jus’ figured you’d tell me to deflate my ego or somethin’.”</p><p> </p><p>“While your ego certainly needs deflating, don’t think I’m such a fool that I can’t tell when you’re lying to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Miya’s face formed a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Omi.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever. I’m going to go wash the sheets. You disinfect the mattresses and bed frames.” </p><p> </p><p>Miya let out an overexaggerated groan. </p><p> </p><p>“You said you’d comply with my demands if I agreed to share a room. Would you rather clean or pay for your own room?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, fine,” he sighed as he set to work. Kiyoomi gathered the sheets and left with a nod of approval. </p><p> </p><p>They worked together to finish cleaning the room to Kiyoomi’s standards, though Miya groaned the whole time. Kiyoomi expected him to make some excuse to leave, knowing his teammate was prone to restlessness, but he never did. He seemed more content to bury himself in blankets on the couch and turn on Netflix. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi had a not-so-filling meal of instant ramen (though he had been living off of protein bars for long enough it certainly felt like a real meal) before he settled in his bed, scrolling through Motoya’s updates about quarantining in Tokyo. </p><p> </p><p>“Omi?” Kiyoomi hummed. “Ya wanna watch Dragon Ball wi’ me?”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi found himself almost asking which series before he caught himself. “No.” Plan A may have been ripped to shreds, but he wasn’t going to abandon it yet.</p><p> </p><p>Miya was pouting on the couch, of course, but Kiyoomi refused to give in, instead settling on the floor beside his bed to stretch. </p><p> </p><p>He felt tension, built up over the continuous days spent in a single corner of his hotel room, seep out of his joints. He couldn’t stretch as far as he had been before the trip, but that was to be expected after time off. </p><p> </p><p>He leaned over as far as he could, trying to reach his hovering fingers to the edge of the wooden base his bed rested on, but it was all for naught. His muscles had grown rigid over the past two weeks. </p><p> </p><p>He was too caught up in his own defeat to register the pause of the noise coming from the TV. </p><p> </p><p>Thus, he was startled by the voice from just behind him, asking, “Need help, Omi-Omi?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Plan A, </em>he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head, but the inches between his fingertips and the bed seemed to mock him, reminding him of the weaknesses brought about as even extended consequences of his OCD. </p><p> </p><p>He’d improved at managing it since high school, and he’d proven that it couldn’t keep him from being the best ace. Would he really let it control him now?</p><p> </p><p>“I cleaned my hands an’ everythin’!” Miya assured him, his personal effort the nail in the coffin. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Then, Miya’s hands were on his back, pressing, and his thighs hurt in the <em> best way, </em> because he’d always appreciated that strain and the feeling of improvement that accompanied it. </p><p> </p><p>His fingertips touched the wood, and he longed to place his hands across it, to stretch even <em> further </em>. </p><p> </p><p>Miya must have understood, because he pushed harder, and Kiyoomi groaned through the pain as he flattened his palms against the base, thankful he’d cleaned it during the room disinfecting earlier. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi sat up and twisted his torso around, popping his spine while simultaneously maneuvering himself to face Miya. </p><p> </p><p>His new roommate’s face was a bright pink. Weird. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right! Uh— no problem, Omi-kun!” He practically ran back to the couch and resumed his Netflix. </p><p> </p><p>Weird indeed. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is why I have the Sakusa Kiyoomi is bad at feelings tag</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Atsumu is so dumb istg<br/>Remember how they understand each other through volleyball? Because they both depend on it and are obsessed with it? Yeah keep that in mind.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Second chapter for today!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“Heart, stop racin’</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Let’s face it, making mistakes like this</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>Will make worse what was already pretty bad.”</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p><br/>Atsumu called his brother while Sakusa showered in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>“I swear, if yer not dyin—“</p><p> </p><p>“Somethin’s wrong!” His own words reminded him of his whole stalker problem, which, while effectively keeping him in his room, hadn’t actually been at the forefront of his mind since Sakusa dragged him into his cleaning routine the previous day. </p><p> </p><p>“What kinda ‘wrong’, ‘Tsumu? Knowin’ ya, ‘m sure it’s stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey! ‘s not stupid, I was jus’ wonderin’ if I’ve ever been— like, super worried ‘bout a particular spiker before?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, ya mean the one yer currently trapped with? The one yer worried ‘bout killin’ ya in yer sleep? That spiker?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu pouted on the other end of the FaceTime call. “I didn’t say who it was.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ya didn’t have to, yer dumb. If yer worried ‘bout a spiker right now, it’s gonna be the germaphobe yer down the hall from.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, we’re in a room together now. Since the quarantine was extended. Figured we’d save the cash.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu gave him a look he didn’t recognize. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Anyways, </em> I was wonderin’ cause, like, I’ve been takin’ weird care o’ him. I was bringin’ him food ‘n stuff, ‘n I took him to get tested, I’ve jus’ been really worried ‘bout him, and I don’t think I’m usually like that. Waddaya think?”</p><p> </p><p>“You really don’t know, do you? Man, yer a moron.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? What don’t I know?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu started laughing at him. </p><p> </p><p>“‘Samu, I’m serious! What am I missin’ here? Is somethin’ wrong with me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Several things. Would you like me to make you a list?” Sakusa asked from the door to the bathroom. Atsumu gulped. Osamu cackled from his phone. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll let ya deal with this one, ‘Tsumu,” his brother said before abruptly ending the call. </p><p> </p><p>“Something wrong, Miya?” Sakusa asked while Atsumu sputtered. </p><p> </p><p>“Wha— ah— no! Nothin’s wrong!” </p><p> </p><p>He looked up at Sakusa, who still had water dripping from his shiny hair onto a towel around his neck, droplets falling from his chin to his T-shirt. </p><p> </p><p>Something was <em> definitely </em>wrong. </p><p> </p><p>He needed some air. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu donned his mask and grabbed a handheld hand sanitizer before heading down to the lobby. He sat on one of the couches and pulled out his phone, when the reflection on the dark screen reminded him why he hadn’t left the room sooner. </p><p> </p><p>A girl stared at him from behind a corner, and he immediately opened his phone to send Sakusa a text. </p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>: OMI</p><p><b>You</b>: SOS</p><p><b>You</b>: STALKER</p><p> </p><p>Left on read. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently Sakusa would be leaving him to die. </p><p> </p><p>He started texting his will and testament in the notes of his phone. </p><p> </p><p>Osamu wasn’t wrong when he called him an overdramatic baby, after all. </p><p> </p><p>There was a weight next to him on the couch. </p><p> </p><p>“You really shouldn’t be leaving the room alone, Miya.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘s not like yer gonna join me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>Well, technically, he did. </p><p> </p><p>“But ya don’t want to!”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t really matter whether I want to or not. If the options are to leave the room or lose a perfectly adequate setter, I suppose I’ll leave the room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perfectly ade— I’ll have you know I am the <em> best </em>setter!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>He was still pouting over being called “adequate”, but Sakusa’s presence did make him feel better. And slightly more nervous. What was that about? </p><p> </p><p>“Wanna go fer a walk, then?”</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Something was wrong with Miya. </p><p> </p><p>Besides his stalker situation. </p><p> </p><p>He was being increasingly awkward around Kiyoomi, deliberately staying multiple feet away from him as they walked. </p><p> </p><p>The most unsettling thing was the lack of quips. </p><p> </p><p>He seemed flustered, sputtering into silence when he would usually be teasing Kiyoomi about how he clearly didn’t want to be there. </p><p> </p><p>The walk was practically silent without it. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to fix his setter. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look so miserable, Miya. This was your idea, after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, Omi-kun, you can just say ya like my smile!” he smirked. </p><p> </p><p>Mission accomplished. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately. </p><p> </p><p>He scoffed. “Don’t be so arrogant. Did you get a good look at the stalker?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope. Saw a girl’s face, but couldn’t even tell her eye color in the dark screen like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm. We should get back to the room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” Kiyoomi turned to look at him. They were standing outside of a liquor store. “They’re open!”</p><p> </p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>“And we should grab somethin’!”</p><p> </p><p>“I have no intention of drinking during our stay here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Suit yerself,” Miya sighed, entering. Kiyoomi waited outside. </p><p> </p><p>And waited. </p><p> </p><p>It had been about fifteen minutes. Did it usually take someone this long to grab some alcohol? It wasn’t like it was for an event. </p><p> </p><p>Should he leave Miya there and go back to their room?</p><p> </p><p>No, he was being stalked. He couldn’t leave him alone. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi took a deep breath and entered the shop, holding the handle through his sleeve along with his glove. </p><p> </p><p>Miya was standing by the counter, looking at his phone, with several bottles around him. </p><p> </p><p>“An’ this one?” He gestured at a bottle that looked like vodka. </p><p> </p><p>“670.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn. What ‘bout this?”</p><p> </p><p>“590.”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Kay, I guess that works…”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi stepped closer. Miya’s phone was open to a bank app. </p><p> </p><p>There weren’t that many bottles on the counter, just a few variations of vodka and whiskey, and a six pack of beers on the other side. </p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi pushed what he knew to be the more expensive of the vodka and whiskey in front of the cashier and tossed his credit card on the counter. “That and the beers, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>The cashier complied, and Kiyoomi took the bags </p><p>from him, refusing to look at Miya. </p><p> </p><p>The walk home was silent. Neither of them spoke until they were back in their room, door closed behind them. </p><p> </p><p>“The hell was that?!” Miya demanded. </p><p> </p><p>“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah, thanks, but <em> why?! </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi didn’t really have an answer to that. </p><p> </p><p>It would be one thing if he’d stepped in to pay for something Miya needed, like sanitary supplies or food. He didn’t <em> need </em>alcohol, not by any means, and Kiyoomi had already said he wasn’t going to drink any himself. </p><p> </p><p>Thus, Kiyoomi didn’t answer him, instead turning to put the beer in the fridge. “You’re not drinking tonight. I already have to adjust to sharing a room with you. I’m not prepared to babysit you drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>Miya squawked in offense, and Kiyoomi ignored him. Good. Back to normal. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu didn’t touch the alcohol until the end of the week, when he drank one beer and found he didn’t have the urge to indulge in a second. </p><p> </p><p>He was adapting to life with Sakusa well, although he still had odd reactions when the man left the bathroom after showering, curls glistening and dripping onto a towel. He didn’t know why he got all warm, but he sure wasn’t going to ask Osamu after he was laughed at last time.</p><p> </p><p>He hardly left the room, too scared of the stalker, for the next couple of weeks, and he was more than restless. He’d stood out on the balcony and considered jumping off to freedom. Sakusa told him he was being stupid and offered to toss the ball back and forth with him outside. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>So they developed a routine of receiving the ball back and forth for a couple of hours every afternoon. Atsumu added some sets, and Sakusa spiked it at the ground in front of him some, but stopped attempting that when it rebounded into Atsumu’s chin, though Sakusa swore that it was simply because they should be keeping the ball from touching the ground. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t helped Sakusa stretch again, too embarrassed after the first time. Why had it made him blush so profusely? </p><p> </p><p>Since his brother had been no help, Atsumu decided to ask his old team, opening the group chat they mainly used for meetups at pro games. </p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>: SO UH</p><p><b>You</b>: I GOT A QUESTION</p><p> </p><p><b>sunarin</b>: jesus he still types in all caps</p><p> </p><p><b>Kita-san</b>: What do you need?</p><p> </p><p><b>Aran</b>: Chill Atsumu</p><p><b>Aran</b>: Just ask</p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>: WAS I EVER LIKE</p><p><b>You</b>: OVERLY CONCERNED ABOUT THE SPIKERS</p><p> </p><p><b>sunarin</b>: you used to hound samu before games about sleep n stuff</p><p> </p><p><b>Aran</b>: Yeah but Osamu also dragged him out of the gym when he practiced too late before games</p><p> </p><p><b>Kita</b>: Yes, they had a bit of a mutual thing. Atsumu, you were generally the one warranting concern.</p><p> </p><p><b>WORSE TWIN</b>: JFC this again?! You rly haven’t figured it out huh</p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>: WHATS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN</p><p> </p><p><b>WORSE TWIN</b>: Guys don’t tell him</p><p> </p><p><b>sunarin</b>: tell him what</p><p> </p><p><b>WORSE TWIN</b>: Who’s he trapped with rn</p><p> </p><p><b>sunarin</b>: ohhh</p><p><b>sunarin</b>: ha hes fucked</p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>: What!!! WHY</p><p> </p><p><b>Aran</b>: HA this’ll be entertaining to watch play out</p><p> </p><p><b>Kita</b>: Good luck, Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p><b>You</b>:     (＞﹏＜)</p><p><b>You</b>: Thx Kita-san </p><p> </p><p>Then, the world seemingly ended, the day the quarantine was pronounced indefinite. </p><p> </p><p>It was late morning when they got the news, and then he and Sakusa shared a silent lunch in the room of sandwiches made from convenience store materials. </p><p> </p><p>They were edible. </p><p> </p><p>They didn’t think things could get worse, even if they were tolerating each other’s company. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu was feeling hopeless about money. He could ask his parents to help, but they certainly weren’t rich, and he just couldn’t do that to them. </p><p> </p><p>Osamu was already struggling to keep Onigiri Miya afloat after being shut down for the quarantine, so borrowing from him wasn’t an option. </p><p> </p><p>“Miya,” Sakusa called from his bed, and Atsumu noticed the tremble in his voice. “Check your inbox.”</p><p> </p><p>His most recent email was forwarded by Coach Foster. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>V-League Cancelled?!</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Due to the dire circumstances surrounding COVID-19, the Japanese Volleyball League games from this point on will be cancelled. We hope to have a normal return next season, but for this year, we won’t have a champion. A special thanks to our teams who… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the words blurred in Atsumu’s vision. Was he crying? Maybe his eyes were tearing up. </p><p> </p><p>“No, we can’t…”</p><p> </p><p>“Miya—“</p><p> </p><p>“It can’t be over! We still need to beat the Adlers! We were— we were on track to beat them!”</p><p> </p><p>“Miya, I’m not happy either, but—“</p><p> </p><p>“What, we’re jus’ supposed to wait through the entire off-season?! That’s too long off, the team won’t be synced up by the time we get back, and—“</p><p> </p><p>“MIYA.” Sakusa’s tone was harsher than he’d ever heard it, yet it still nearly broke. Atsumu saw unspilled tears in his teammate’s eyes. Right, Sakusa used volleyball to cope with his OCD, didn’t he? This sucked for him, too. </p><p> </p><p>Then, another thought. </p><p> </p><p>“The hell am I supposed ta do ‘bout money?!” Sakusa didn’t offer a response. Atsumu didn’t really want one. </p><p> </p><p>He clambered off of his bed and grabbed the vodka from the counter, pouring himself a shot in a coffee cup. When he looked up, Sakusa was taking the bottle and pouring one for himself. </p><p> </p><p>They were in for a long evening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh boy they’re drinking I wonder what this could possibly lead to</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Drunk Atsumu and Death Notes</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>“I’m trying my best</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>I’m trying my best to be okay</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <strong>I’m trying my best but everyday it’s so hard.”</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>One shot in, Kiyoomi was already washing his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d tried. He was hoping the alcohol would dull the need, but it wasn’t kicking in fast enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three pumps of his soap, brought from home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thirty seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three cycles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands had been starting to scar over after his episode at the beginning of their quarantine. However, his current scrubbing was resulting in red tinted water swirling down the drain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt it on his hands, the grime, the sickness. He could feel it. Why was his scrubbing not enough to get it off?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The volleyball season was </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The damn virus was ruining </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d been watching the case numbers and death rates since day one. Now it was taking away the only thing that ever managed to make him feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Omi!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His nails dug under his skin. He needed to shower, it wasn’t just his hands, he needed to scrub everywhere, get rid of the contaminated skin—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“KIYOOMI!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya’s hands wrapped around Kiyoomi’s wrists. He froze, staring at them, and when Miya frantically tore them away, he kept staring down at where they’d been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean’ta touch ya. Ya were just freakin’ out and hurtin’ yerself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi was still frozen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya was moving around somewhere in the background. Something was being poured. A coffee cup full of whiskey was thrust in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He downed it, relishing in the way it burned all the way down his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he looked up, Miya was throwing back his own drink, then pouring two more. Another was set by the sink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drank it as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Feelin’ better?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me another and we’ll see,” he answered, hating how shaky his voice still sounded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya obliged, and soon enough, half the bottle was gone, and the pair was draped across opposite ends of their couch, some sports anime playing on their TV. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hrng?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what I said to you when I tried out for the team?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya laughed and lifted his head from the couch to face Kiyoomi. “Ya mean ‘yer hair doesn’t look like piss anymore’?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi nodded. “It was meant to be a compliment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya froze, before laughing harder. “Ya really don’t have any tact, Omi!” There was a slight slur to his words, and Kiyoomi began to wonder if this was a good idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had to be better than scrubbing himself raw under scalding water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu downed a quarter coffee cup of vodka. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I dunno what ta do ‘bout money.” Sakusa looked at him, eyes glazed over from the alcohol. “I’ll be fine once we get home, since I stay at the buildin’ for the team, but I’ll starve ta death here firs’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me pay while we’re here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Food and cleaning supplies and such. I’ll pay for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu was drunk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was drunk and he was hearing things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sakusa Kiyoomi would make an offer like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa did pay for the alcohol after saying he wasn’t going to drink, though, and he probably would have stuck to that if they hadn’t gotten the news. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya don’t mean that. Yer drunk, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m no lightweight, Miya. It’s my parents’ money, anyways. I didn’t want to touch it, but I’ll have to for myself, now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, so there was a possibility he meant it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would figure out in the morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What if they both forgot? Had they had enough alcohol to forget? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu grabbed his phone to make a reminder, only to see dozens of messages from the team. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Omi-Omi?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What,” he groaned, shoving his face into the arm of the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The team wants ta know if we’re alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That remains to be seen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Kay, I’ll tell them ‘sorta’!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa hummed in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’re yer hands?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want somethin’ more ta drink?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa waited a moment before answering, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu filled half of the cup with vodka, then filled it the rest of the way with soda from the fridge. Sakusa cringed when he drank it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is disgusting, Miya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘m not a bartender!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Motoya’s texting me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘m not surprised. Sunarin said their team was pretty upset, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s just...worried about me. He figured it would set me off. Guess he was right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu looked at Sakusa’s hands, one clutched around the coffee cup and the other holding his phone. They looked almost like they had at the beginning of their stay, red and raw and bloody. He’d reopened all of the cuts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Want me ta wrap yer hands again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa agreed a lot faster than he had the first time, and Atsumu considered the progress he’d made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he wondered when he started considering getting close to Sakusa “progress”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu’s mind was growing fuzzier by the second, but he wouldn’t accept anything less than perfection when it came to his spiker’s hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was normal, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa spoke again as Atsumu knelt in front of the couch, first aid kit in hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate being the one everyone has to worry about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked up to silently tell Sakusa that he was listening, but his gaze was fixed on his lap, hands clenching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu lathered his own hands in sanitizer in view, then gently pried Sakusa’s fingers from his palms. They were shaking. Atsumu wasn’t surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Motoya should be worrying about his own career, not if I’m falling apart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Samu asked if I need a loan,” he said as he started wrapping one of Sakusa’s hands. “His restaurant got closed down. He’s almost as broke as I am. An’ he’s still tryin’ ta take care o’ me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like your brother is as dumb as you are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu found himself chuckling at the dig, because at least it meant Sakusa felt better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since when was that a priority?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finished wrapping the second hand quickly, still taking care to be gentle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he stood up, Sakusa let out a soft huff of a laugh. Atsumu looked at him questioningly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My blood is on your hands. Literally.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu chuckled himself, because never in his life would he have guessed that he’d hear Sakusa Kiyoomi joke about his own blood making a mess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whadya wanna watch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Le’s watch somethin’. On Netflix. I may not want a loan from ‘Samu, but that doesn’t mean I won’t mooch off his account.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I always fall asleep watching Netflix.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So? What else would ya do today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough. Anime? Documentary?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu laughed. “Are those yer only options?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa sighed. “What about Your Lie in April?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way! I heard that’s sad. I don’t wanna cry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi-Omi!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to watch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What ‘bout Death Note?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm. I don’t know that that’ll keep you from crying. It’s the only show I haven’t finished, though. I stopped watching after—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi! I haven’ seen it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oops,” he deadpanned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>show you’ve never finished?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I like to see things through.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about Naruto?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ve wasted far too many hours watching everything they deemed necessary to extend it with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bleach?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finished. Not near as long, though the nonlinear arcs nearly made me email the creators.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jeez. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One Piece?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never started it in the first place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So outta all o’ that, the only show ya didn’t finish was the one season, thirty-seven episode one?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Kay, we’re watchin’ One Piece.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No way. I’ll look up shows to watch in isolation.” He was refusing to use the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>quarantine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Atsumu couldn’t judge. For all he knew, saying it might trigger another panic attack. “What is ‘Yarichin—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“NO!” Atsumu cut him off, not prepared to talk to Sakusa Kiyoomi about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that show</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Death Note is listed, and you wanted to watch it, so we can watch that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’ll listen to a random website, but not me?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya grabbed a beer and sat on one end of the ouch, so Kiyoomi kept himself carefully tucked into the other side. He was done drinking for the day— or night, since the sun was starting to set. They would need to do something for dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Onscreen, Light Yagami watched a notebook fall from the sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked it up without worrying about where it came from or who’d touched it or what it could possibly be contaminated with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi often thought like this after bad episodes, wishing he could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The notebook was on the ground, yet Light didn’t worry about disinfecting it, or his hands after he touched it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi stood up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi didn’t know much about cooking even with abundant ingredients, so he just grabbed two containers of instant ramen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Our dieticians are gonna have a field day with this,” Miya said from the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch the show, Miya. Every character is smarter than you. You’ll need to focus to keep up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya made an indignant squawking noise, and Kiyoomi found that he was smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would ya do if ya got a Death Note?” Miya asked when Kiyoomi sat his instant ramen on a coaster in front of him and reclaimed his seat. “I think I’d do what he’s doin’ now, killin’ bad guys in emergencies ta save others.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi hummed. “I’d probably kill all of the world leaders and revel in the chaos brought about.” Miya stared at him, open-mouthed. “Kidding,” he added humorlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya blinked dazedly at him. How much alcohol had he had? Between time and food, Kiyoomi was only feeling buzzed, but Miya hadn’t really stopped drinking. He’d finished his beer and moved on to a disgusting looking vodka-soda mix, similar to what he’d made Kiyoomi. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi stared resolutely at the screen until Miya returned his gaze there as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The TV was the only sound for a few more episodes. Bowls were returned to the sink, and Miya’s cup was refilled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The governments just kinda panicked, ya know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. People were dying and all they could manage was a panicked argument. It certainly sounds familiar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya made a noise and downed the rest of whatever was in his cup. Kiyoomi had given up on keeping track. He would pay for it with his hangover in the morning, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omiii.” Oh, he sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>hammered. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He reminds me of ya.” Onscreen, L agreed to meet the police. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s like…” Miya’s words were slurring, and Kiyoomi was about to accept that he didn’t really have a point when he finally completed the thought. “He’s scared. Like...too scared of life ta live, ya know? Like...he’s bein’ so cautious he doesn’t get to have a life. He’s not dyin’, sure, but he’s not livin’ either.” He almost sounded near tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi was thinking of an argument, about to resort to simply commenting on how he was clearly a crying drunk, when Miya flopped over, his head falling on Kiyoomi’s lap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was shocked, expecting Miya to sit right back up and apologize, but instead, he heard soft snores. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ummm they’re both simps</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guess what kind of drunk Atsumu is</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kiyoomi wasn’t bothered, and that was entirely the problem. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could he </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be bothered by Miya Atsumu’s head in his lap?! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still had his sweatpants on, sure, so it wasn’t like he was laying on his bare skin, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi resisted the urge to drag his fingers through the blond hair flopped sloppily onto his sweats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was he supposed to do?! Should he wake him up?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was drunk; of course he wouldn’t wake up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi would just have to deal with it. He leaned his head back on the couch, determined not to let Miya Atsumu keep him from getting sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu’s first thought when he awoke was that his pillow was warmer than he remembered, almost like it was generating its own heat. His second thought was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn my head hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu stretched his legs out, confused when his feet hit something obstructing them from straightening out. He finally opened his eyes to see that the obstruction was the arm of the couch,a den bean to remember how he’d fallen asleep, whipping his head around to see Sakusa Kiyoomi above him, head tilted back as he slept on the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head was in Sakusa’s lap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His </span>
  <em>
    <span>head</span>
  </em>
  <span> was in Sakusa’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>lap</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the hell?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had he let himself do that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sakusa</span>
  </em>
  <span> let him do that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Should he move? That would most likely wake Sakusa up. What was the proper—what was the word? Osaka would totally make fun of him for forgetting it—etiquette for a situation like this?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact of the matter was that, for whatever reason, Sakusa had allowed this much contact. Atsumu had probably been too drunk to wake up, so he had to repay him, somehow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of paying…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa had offered to pay for all of his expenses for their prolonged stay. Had he been serious? Had he only offered because of the alcohol? How was Atsumu supposed to bring it up?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He enjoyed the nice pillow that Sakusa’s lap made for. Few more moments before rolling himself onto the floor with a clang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya? What the hell are you doing?” He asked in a groggy morning voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was jus’ gonna get us breakfast, Omi-kun!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From where?” Everywhere’s closed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not the convenience store! I’ll get us some fruit!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Shower first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So eager to see me naked?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could poison you and say it was Covid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Message received!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu showered as instructed, ignoring the persistent question of when the fuck did he get so obedient?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dressed with hair partially dried, Atsumu donned his mask and a pair of Sakusa’s gloves before leaving, calling out a “bye, Omi-omi!” over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t even made it to the elevator before he heard a door opening behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya.” He turned around to see Sakusa leaning out of the doorway, holding out what Atsumu recognized as his credit card. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya sure ‘bout this, Omi?” he asked as he took it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I wasn’t. I have another, so you can just keep that one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he did, stupid rich city boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stupid rich pretty boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu waved again, not sure what to say. Did he thank him? He needed more than a ‘thank you’. He was saving Atsumu from debt, here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ignored the eyes he felt on him as he left the hotel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside, cherry blossoms were falling. He would need to take Sakusa out to see this before they were all gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The convenience store bell chimed as he entered and grabbed bananas, peaches, and strawberries. He grabbed the last bottle of hand sanitizer and the familiar blue package of the wipes Sakusa liked, then found the same brand of gloves since apparently he was using them now, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed a couple of sports magazines for both of them to read in the room, and made a note to find out some of Sakusa’s other interests so he would know what magazines to buy him in the future.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He arrived back at the hotel with a bag in each hand and got in the elevator. Someone slipped a hand between the doors just before they closed. They opened to show a girl with wavy blonde hair and a navy cardigan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi! You’re Miya Atsumu, right? From the Black Jackals?” she asked in English. Her accent didn’t quite sound American, maybe European. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awesome! I’m Valania!” The elevator doors closed behind her. She stood a bit too close for comfort. Atsumu wasn’t sure if the elevator was actually moving slower than normal or if it was just his apprehension. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice ta meetcha,” he said in his best English. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valania grabbed his wrist. She was still standing way too close. Normally, Atsumu didn’t have a problem with flirting with his fans a bit, but this girl was definitely the one who’d been stalking him, and she made him immeasurably uneasy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a huge fan, you know. I love watching you on the court. You’re so amazing!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All things that he would take as normal compliments if not for the situation and the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks!” he choked out, forcing his face into a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She latched onto his arm, and he shifted the bag in his other hand to his elbow so that he could chew on his thumbnail. The elevator doors opened, and Atsumu stared at the ground as he pulled just slightly on his arm. Valania didn’t let go, stepping with him as he stepped forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What was he supposed to do?! He couldn’t be too rude; he’d run the risk of ruining his image. What would Omi think? He couldn’t just let her into their room!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took more steps down the hallway, keeping his head down and continuing to bite at his nails. He thought he heard footsteps, but he wasn’t sure, and then his shoulder and upper arm were sprayed by something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard coughing and looked up. Omi was there! He was holding their bottle of disinfectant spray and— holy shit he sprayed Valania with disinfectant! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu took the opportunity to dislodge his arm and step away from Valania. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?!” she coughed, and Omi grabbed Atsumu’s arm, pulling him slightly further away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from harassing my teammate, unless you’d like to face legal repercussions,” he said, and Atsumu made a mental note to grumble later about how his English was better than his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valania scoffed and stomped back to the elevator, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sakusa Kiyoomi wanted to know if he was alright?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah! Yep, all good! Thanks fer that, Omi-kun!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was the stalker, I presume?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘m pretty sure, yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His spiker was quiet for a moment, looking down the hallway Valania disappeared down, his eyes scarily harsh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get back to the room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu couldn’t agree more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My credit card,” Kiyoomi demanded of Miya as soon as he had removed his gloves and sanitized his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi sanitized the card after getting it back, as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have done so before the trip, having gotten better about his OCD, but with COVID, he was sure his therapist would have understood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night before had been odd, even in comparison with normal nights with Miya. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t fallen asleep first whilst Netflix was playing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was the last event in the show that you were conscious for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh, Misa maybe? Misa and Rem?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi scrolled to that episode, twelve, and wondered how much time they’d spent on the show the previous night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s keep going. I intend to finish it this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi was not an oblivious person. Well, he could be oblivious to his own feelings, like with Wakatoshi back in high school, but he noticed things around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He noticed that Miya sat closer to him on the couch than the previous night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He forced himself to ignore the fact and instead focused on the TV. Miya stood up an hour in to make them both sandwiches, leaving off the mayonnaise on Kiyoomi’s and cutting off the crust of his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were eating lunch at three in the afternoon, but neither of them seemed to mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Kiyoomi said, remembering something, his voice hardly audible over Light’s internal screaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was going to let you keep that credit card, since you’ll be paying with it.” He pulled it out of his pocket, but Miya immediately started sputtering on the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No no no, Omi, ya don’t hafta jus’ give me it like that! It’s a little too much like you’re my—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cut himself off, and Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind, yer makin’ me miss Light and Misa interaction!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi rolled his eyes but allowed them to land back on the screen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Less than an hour later, Miya was chewing at his nails. Kiyoomi slapped the hand away. “You'll mess up your fingers like that. As a setter, what good are you without them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could—“ Miya started, but he cut himself off again. “Shush, Omi!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi scrolled through his phone, knowing he would fall asleep without doing so, and Miya recovered the volleyball from somewhere in the room, spinning it in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi scrolled through notices about businesses that would be trying to open in some way, such as delivery or to-go options for restaurants and limited capacities for some stores. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pizza place on the island would be opening for delivery. Kiyoomi looked at the date of the announcement— the day prior, the day the quarantine had once again been extended and the V-league had shut down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We could order pizza.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya all but snatched Kiyoomi’s phone from his hands, checking to see if it was true. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d been sustaining themselves on convenience store meals for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want meat lovers, with no mushrooms!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meat lovers doesn’t come with mushrooms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I rest my case!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get supreme, with extra pepperoni and no mushroom on one half. Good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! I wonder if ‘Samu’s openin’ up for delivery.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi typed in the order to the handy website. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, the front desk called to tell them a pizza arrived for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get it,” Kiyoomi said, not wanting his teammate to roam the hotel alone after what happened. He donned his mask and gloves and went to retrieve the pizza. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he got back, Miya was tearing up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miya. Pizza.” He was almost tempted to make a comment implying that the lack of his presence had affected Miya so much, which clearly meant he was spending too much time with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I HATE THIS SHOW!” Miya sobbed out, pulling a pillow to his chest. Kiyoomi looked at the screen. Ah. That episode. Twenty-five, after which Kiyoomi himself had stopped watching, quite uncharacteristically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want alcohol with the pizza?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miya looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Yes, please,” he whined, and Kiyoomi, after rubbing sanitizer into his hands, grabbed a beer and sat it on a coaster next to the pizza box on the coffee table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t sit back down yet, deciding instead to make tea for himself. Jasmine, which he had been assured would be relaxing several years ago by his therapist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omiii!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come comfort me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard the click of the TV shutting off behind him. He turned around to see Miya wiping his tears on his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘’m done with this show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I said. We’re finishing it, thought. I’ll give you a break until tomorrow, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Atsumu pouted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kiyoomi fiddled with the tag on the teabag, forcing out the observation that his teammate was cute, because never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> had Sakusa Kiyoomi considered something besides an animal </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not even children. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, Atsumu smirked, his eyes developing that glint Kiyoomi had learned to hate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Omi-Omi!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it now?” he asked, sitting down with his tea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s play a game!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn’t make any name mistakes btw</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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